


Plunge

by xcrstfallenstrx



Category: WWE
Genre: M/M, ambrollins - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 07:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4738340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xcrstfallenstrx/pseuds/xcrstfallenstrx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been fighting too hard.  For too long. But what are they really fighting? Each other? Or themselves?</p><p>Or maybe... It's something else completely...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plunge

**Author's Note:**

> My first Ambrollins ff. Still needs editing. Not happy with how it turned out. There’s something about the ending that’s rubbing me the wrong way, but it's also not telling me how to change it.

**Plunge**

_‘I am the undisputed future of the WWE.’_

_‘I am the_ FACE _of the WWE. I am the greatest WWE Champion in the history of the WWE and tonight I’m going to give the WWE Universe exactly what it wants…’_

“Your _face_ smeared all over the outside of the Sprint Center?” he asked himself. Dwelling in the bowels of the arena as he was, there was no one’s company to keep but his own. With a bitter smirk he pushed himself up off a wooden crate and out of range of the speakers so he wouldn’t have to keep hearing _THAT_ voice.

_Backstabbing, sell out, piece of shit, mother fucking…_

His hands began to shake as they always did when Seth’s face began to revolve in his mind. Over and over all he could see was Roman, then Seth, and then _THAT_ steel chair. A chair that now held all his sickest desires. It had become a symbol of the vengeance that would never be his.

Oh… he had tried.

Over and over again… But…

The _Authority_ endlessly stood in his way.

"Protecting their golden boy,” he growled. He laughed to himself. It was a shrill sound lost somewhere between human and animal. “Oh… S-e-th-iiieee… Someday you won’t be their golden boy anymore… and the moment you are at your lowest…”

_Backstabbing, sell out, piece of shit, mother fucking… Beautiful…_

And there it was again. Intruding. His shoulders and neck moved in agitated circles. His fist flew out to his side slamming into the concrete wall to his right. Once, twice, and then a third time to really start the burn. He needed the pain… Needed to feed the fire of this hatred stoked to life by betrayal of the deepest kind. Damn his traitorous mind. It betrayed him every day. Tortured him every night. Forever trying to push things to the forefront of his mind and out of the dark recess he pushed it into the morning after when he’d woken up alone.  

_Bastard… Beautiful… Perfect… BASTARD!_

“They’re playing my song...”

Another match. Another bump. Another bar. Another sleepless night.

Another day.

Another city.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

He lost himself in violent match after violent match. Steel Cage. Tables. Ladders. Fueling his supposed instability. Taking solace in the high when you crash and burn from a thirty foot ladder and the crowd stares in morbid fascination like passersby ogling a fatal accident.

_Break me…_

He _wanted_ to be broken. He needed some time off to get his head back on straight. To forget…

On his knees in the center of the ring he begged Bray to hit him with yet another chair shot. Number nine of the night. Number fifteen, eighteen, number something, number too many, for the week. How many tables had there been? He couldn’t remember. The direct correlation between the chair shots and the table confusion wasn’t lost on him. So how many tables, exactly? Did it matter?

It was just another match.

Just another bruise, cut, scrape.

Just another night lost in memories he didn’t want to own.

Just one more bottle of whiskey to flush them away…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another tweet azure eyes would never see. There was no point in posting it, so he closed it instead. No need to endure the endless replies. _‘Are you okay?’, ‘What happened?’, ‘What’s wrong?’_. Couldn’t a guy be cryptic or morose without having to explain himself? He couldn’t. Not anymore. Eyes were always on him, but never the eyes he wanted.

There was a time when maybe… maybe it could have been if he hadn’t been such a coward…

He never thought he’d finally achieve his childhood dream and then despise every minute of it. Oh… he played the role just fine, but in truth he hated the blemish that colored his first title reign. He’d been young, hungry, panicked, and so very foolish. He’d been giving up so much more then he’d ever realized.

_Be careful what you wish for…_

He’d always heard it, and couldn’t help the self-deprecating laugh that always passed his lips every time he thought it. _This isn’t how things were supposed to be._ He laughed at himself again. He felt like a child. Only children were naïve enough to believe in a world where you could have everything. He’d known he couldn’t have both, but he never could have predicted just how much he’d yearn to go back in time.

Every night when he was finally alone and the lights were out he wallowed in self-made misery.

 _Memories_ he once tried so hard to forget were now the only consolation he could find. He’d imagine what could have been if he had stayed. If he hadn’t snuck out just before dawn when the muddle of too many shots had cleared. And every night he started to type the exact same text message, to the exact same person, and just like every night before…

it went _unsent_ …

Another match.

Another fifteen minutes of anxiety.

Another crash and burn.

Another wound.

Another night alone with worry and regret.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

As always, catering was packed, but he didn’t see anyone. Not J&J at his heels and not a single face he passed along the way. He filled his plate with food he wouldn’t taste, and made his way to a table in the corner. _He_ was here. He could feel the accusation of betrayal pressing into the back of his neck as if it was a tangible thing.

He ate in silence as he let his eyes roam the room. When they finally landed on Dean he realized they both had an unobstructed line of sight. Was it an accident? He didn’t think so. Dean and Roman sat heads bent towards each other speaking in hushed tones. What he wouldn’t give to read lips.

When Dean looked up they made eye contact, and like always, it was _electric_. He quickly pushed his plate away, and retreated to his private locker room. Jamie was worried about him. Jamie’s voice reached him through the tidal wave flooding his mind. He couldn’t understand a word he was saying, but he could hear concern in his tone.

The monitor to his right flickered to life and there on the screen:

_Dean Ambrose vs. Luke Harper in a TLC Match Tonight._

Without conscious thought he was immediately on his feet, out of his locker room, and on his way to see Hunter and Stephanie. His world championship forgotten, he forced Jamie and Joey to stay behind. This was something he needed to do on his own.

When he was given permission to enter their office he let himself in, and began to pace the length of the room. Hunter watched him for a few minutes before finally beckoning him over with a wave of his hand. “Seth, sit down. What’s on your mind?”

He looked Hunter straight in the eyes and… he couldn’t answer. The words were trapped in his throat. His hands running through his hair over and over. When he began to feel faint he reminded himself to breathe. They were short shallow breaths.

_Is this a panic attack? Am I having a fucking panic attack?_

“Seth?” Hunter said forcefully bringing him back to himself.

“Cancel the match,” he managed between gasped breaths.

“What match?” Hunter asked.

Stephanie was watching him very closely, and somewhere deep inside himself he knew she knew. He had had his suspicions before, but now he was certain. She saw through him. Had always seen through him. Since the moment he entered their office and _finally_ accepted the offer they had made him months earlier. No matter what reasons he’d given when they had asked _‘why now?’_ , she knew the truth, she knew why he was really there.

“Cancel _Dean’s_ match.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Hunter replied. “He’s been a thorn in our side for months. He has every bit of this punishment coming.”

“You do it, because he’ll kill himself in your ring if you don’t.” He growled in frustration. “Apparently you haven’t been paying attention, because last week, _just_ last week, he went through twelve, yes _twelve_ tables, and I stopped counting after _twenty_ chair shots. You need to send him home.”

“This is what _you_ wanted, Seth,” Stephanie said with a dark smile, “Dean Ambrose out of the WWE for good.”

“No, not like this,” he insisted with a violent shake of his head. “Yes, I wanted him gone, but I didn’t want him leaving here with a broken neck or worse. Not… _him_. I… I just wanted him… out of my hair.”

“Well, it looks like you’ll get your wish soon enough because at that kind of pace… he won’t hold up much longer,” Hunter said with a shrug. “And once he’s out due to injury we’ll terminate his contract for reckless behavior.”

He looked them both over slowly before his eyes came to rest on Hunter once again. He stepped forward, standing toe to toe and eye to eye with The Game, Triple H. “Cancel the match,” he demanded through gritted teeth.

“Absolutely not,” Stephanie replied from his right.

He moved even closer to Hunter so they were chest to chest. “Cancel the match and send him home or I quit right fucking now. I’ll walk out that door, and you’ll lose the face, the future, of the WWE to T--N--A.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’d been side-lined. He didn’t understand it. He hadn’t been injured, despite his best efforts to the contrary in recent weeks. As security guards dragged him and his gear out of the building, he realized something. He hadn’t been side-lined… He’d been suspended.

He tried to muster some form of anger at being unfairly suspended, but suspended or side-lined, he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. Time off. After they dumped him in the parking lot he began to gather his gear.

A shudder moved up his spine. _Seth…_ His palms went clammy, and his hands stopped working.

He looked to his right, out of the corner of his eye, and there _he_ was. _Watching_ him. Taking in his _every_ move.

He would have called it predatory except for the complete lack of malice. This was something… else. Something else entirely. He didn’t understand what _this_ was but he wasn’t up for any more mind games. He resumed what he’d been doing, forcing his trembling fingers to cooperate, keeping a leery eye on Seth.

Russet eyes moved over his shoulders, down his arms, and came to rest on his hands. When he reached for the final item, his leather jacket, he saw Seth’s feet shift, and he braced for an attack. One he wouldn’t fight when it came. “Nothing to say, Dean?”

He turned to face Seth fully a cynical smile on his face, “What would you like me to say, Sell Out Supreme?” He could have sworn he saw Seth flinch at his new nick name.

“Psht. Well… whatever, Ambrose,” he replied, “You’re welcome,” he finished as he turned to go.

“You’re welcome?” he responded derisively with a hollow laugh. “What exactly am I thanking you for? For letting Randy RKO Roman into a chair? For curb stomping me into a chair? For destroying The Shield? For taking the only family I’ve ever known away from me?”                                                                                                                                                

With every word his volume, along with his rage, grew. “THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH, SETH, FOR CURB STOMPING ME INTO CINDER BLOCKS AND ALMOST COSTING ME MY WHOLE FUCKING CAREER!”

He watched Seth run a hand through his hair, it was a nervous tick he was too familiar with, and as always, his eyes shifted to Seth’s neck taking in the expanse of pale flesh. “Thank you for forcing Triple H and Stephanie to give you some time off,” Seth whispered.

He looked over Seth’s face again and again, but there was no lie there. “That is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asked and took a step closer. “Anybody who really knew you would see it.”

“Don’t pretend you know me, Seth. If you did you would know to stay the hell out of my business. The last person I want help from is _you_.” There it was again, and this time he knew it wasn’t his imagination, Seth had visibly winced.

“Do you always have to be so… so god damn difficult, Dean,” Seth asked. “You may not have wanted it, but I gave it, and I almost had to give up MY career to do it.”

“What?”

“Just… just forget it, Dean. I’m done trying to explain and I’m done trying to apologize.”

He watched Seth go. _Explain?_ Explain? _He explained all right. We were never anything more than business partners. We were never friends. We were never brothers. We were never…_

He couldn’t allow himself to put a name on that night. Not mentally, and certainly not verbally. If he did, what little was left of the walls he built around his heart would crumble into sand. He needed those walls. Every contemptible event of his childhood had laid a single brick until all he could feel was rage.

Then came FCW…

Every match, every glance, every smile, every laugh, took a brick away until almost nothing was left.

 _Seth_ had stolen the only protection he had ever known, he didn’t know how to get it back, and he didn’t know _how_ to function without it.

 _Seth_ had stolen the only family he had ever known. He still had Roman, but Seth had _always_ been what made it _feel_ like a home.

He watched until Seth disappeared into the building. Something had changed between them just now. He couldn’t define it. He couldn’t explain it. Something was… different. Was the war over?

Or had a new war just begun?

As he loaded his gear into his rental car he couldn’t help but wonder what came next. What was he in for? What could Seth’s objective possibly be? What was Seth trying to accomplish? He wanted to ignore the whole thing, and just get back to Vegas, but he couldn’t. The enigma that was Seth Rollins had fascinated him from minute one, and he was no less captivated by his complexities now.

As he pulled out of the parking lot he could hear Seth in his head again, _‘Anybody who really knew you would see it…’_

But that wasn’t true. He spent nearly every minute on the road with Roman, and even he had missed it.

But… no one had ever _understood_ him like Seth.

No one had ever been as _close_ to him as Seth.

And no one had _ever_ meant as much to him as Seth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As he stood behind the curtain waiting for his cue, he kept seeing the shift of emotions on Dean’s face over and over. Scorn, anger, disbelief, tenderness, revulsion… He really had outdone himself. He had the world convinced that Dean Ambrose had never meant anything to him. It was… unfortunate that the person he needed to convince the most was himself.

As he made his way to the ring, the WWE Championship was like a bag of bricks on his chest. He couldn’t breathe. For the second time in one night he swore he was having a panic attack. His breath caught again and again. He could swear his heart was going to beat its way out of his chest, but he knew that was impossible. His heart had beat its last beat on June 2nd, 2014 at _exactly_ 9:52 p.m. central standard time.

In the ring, what some would call his biggest opposition to date, The Undertaker, was waiting for him. The reality was that his most monumental challenge came later. It came tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. The not knowing. The worrying. The wondering. The constant presence of _him_ in nothing but memories. Touch. Taste. Smell. All trapped in his mind’s eye.

When the bell rang he put up no resistance.

He _needed_ to be punished for his transgressions…

The thought of another night alone in a hotel room left him feeling hollow. Especially now. The endless hours to come without so much as a glance to carry him through each night. As he loaded his gear into his rental he contemplated temporary company. The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth, but... so did the cold empty bed waiting for him.

He used his phone to find someplace where he could find what he needed. He punched the address into the GPS and pulled out of the parking lot. As he drove he took in the night sky. The city lights were so bright he couldn’t see the stars, and it reminded him of the strip.

_Isn’t there anything… anything that won’t remind me of him?_

In recent weeks the answer was an emphatic no, but he kept trying. It was one of only two battles that he would _never_ win. The second? Earning _his_ forgiveness. Dean had said over and over again that he stabbed him in the back, but he had struck _much_ lower.

In that fateful moment, he plunged a dagger into the center of a heart that had known too much pain, and had watched it shatter. Dean’s striking eyes, windows to a broken soul that had finally begun to mend, went from shock, to sadness, to rage. In an instant, the shutters slammed down, and he’d been locked out tight.

That was the moment. The moment he _knew_ he had made the wrong choice. The first time he stared into the eyes that haunted his dreams, and he was on the outside. For the first time since the moment they met, Dean had shut him out completely, and his heart had ceased to beat. He hadn’t known until that exact _second_ how much it really _meant_ to have someone as guarded as Dean let you in, until it was taken away.

That was the moment he _finally_ understood everything that had been building up inside of him for the last three years, but it had already been too late.

From that point forward, everything had already been written in stone.

And he’d had _no_ other choice…

He pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine. He watched car after car pull in. His eyes followed every patron from their car until they disappeared through the entrance. Every time he grabbed the door handle, his hand would start to shake. _I can’t do this._

He just _couldn’t_. He wouldn’t get what he needed here. He’d never have what he yearned for, and the constant reminder pushed him lower and lower. After that night he’d thought he couldn’t sink any further, but every surprise attack, every match, every argument destroyed another piece of him. Eventually there would be nothing left. It was fitting in a perverse sort of way. _He_ already owned everything else. Why not his soul too?

He grabbed his gear, and headed into his hotel. Tonight, would be just like all the others. Shower. Check his schedule for the next day. Double check his travel arrangements. Set his alarm. Turn out the lights. Crawl into bed, and let himself remember.

Eventually he’d pull out his phone and begin to type…

_I’m sorry seems inadequate after everything I’ve put you through. I know you have no reason to believe anything I have to say, but I’m going to say it anyway. I regret betraying you with everything that I am. I regret hurting you. It left a hole in me you could never understand. But more than that. I regret leaving that night. It’s why I left Shield. It’s why we’re at each other’s throats now, when instead we might be... Sometimes things happen. I know that. Afterwards you shut me out and you never acknowledged it. I needed you to say something. Anything. That maybe you felt like I do, no matter how fucked up. No matter how confusing. I wanted you to know the truth. Come what may. For the first time in my life, I fell head over heels stupid in love, and it was with my best friend. That night I could have sworn you felt it too, but that’s probably just my mind playing tricks on me. I couldn’t risk losing you because of it. So I ran as fast and as far as I could in the other direction and lost you anyway._

He stood in front of his door dreading the emptiness on the other side. He slid his keycard into the lock, and waited for the click. He made his way inside, and as he pushed the door shut behind him it stopped short.

“Can we talk?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For a second he thought Seth wouldn’t let him in. The look of shock on his face was almost comical. When Seth pulled the door open completely and moved his bags out of the way without saying anything, he couldn’t make his feet cross the threshold. _What the fuck are you doing here?_

He’d told himself over and over again that this was a stupid idea, but he’d drove here anyway. He could have already been on the next flight home, and instead he was standing in Seth’s doorway starring into chocolate eyes frozen in place. _This is ridiculous. You came here. Just_ walk _in…_

He’d followed Seth all the way up from the parking lot. He felt like some sort of creeper. Some part of him didn’t want Seth to know that he’d been waiting for him all night. It was too vulnerable. He told himself that he’d wait a while after Seth got back before knocking, but once he laid eyes on Seth it was like his feet took over. He was on autopilot and couldn’t stop himself.

Seth watched him so carefully, it made him even more uneasy. Seth pulled the tie out of his hair, and ran his fingers through it. He was nervous. He moved his hair from one shoulder to the other. He was thinking something over, and for a moment Dean thought he might slam the door in his face. Instead he left the door open and disappeared around the corner with his gear.

The message was clear. If he accepted the invitation he couldn’t go back. He’d have to close the door on his own. Seth had left the ball firmly in his court. _Why am I so nervous?_ His palms were clammy, and sweat was beading down his back.

As he started to step into the room, he realized this was the first time they were going to be alone since the night they slept together. It did horrible things to his stomach. He wasn’t crazy and he wasn’t stupid. He already knew he was in love with Seth. Had been since the first time they made eye contact. It was… unfathomable really. How someone like him, who’d _never_ been attached to anyone or anything could fall in love at first sight.

He counted to sixty over and over in his head trying to get himself together. After the third or fourth time his hands had stopped shaking. With a deep breath he crossed over the threshold, shut the door gently behind him, and made his way slowly around the corner. His breath caught in his chest. Seth had taken off his jacket, and his black button down was half unbuttoned, his hair falling to cover one eye.

He’d seen Seth in various shades of undress over the years, but this was _nothing_ like seeing him at the gym or in his ring gear. This was something _intimate_ in the simplest fashion. Undressing in front of a lover, but they weren’t lovers. Seth had made that abundantly clear. There was always a natural sensuality to the way Seth _looked_ at him. He always cocked his head when they spoke and his eyelids always seemed to dip the tiniest bit.

And… he was delusional. Maybe he _was_ crazy. And very clearly _stupid_ for subjecting himself to this kind of torture.

Seth flipped his hair out of his eyes and smiled awkwardly. “Sorry. I…” he looked down at himself briefly and let out a sigh. “Honestly… I thought you left.”

“You want me to leave?” he asked.

“No… Just uh…” he started grabbing things off the bed, “Just let me go finish changing,” he said gesturing to the clothes in his hands.

He was so stupefied he didn’t realize that he was blocking half the bathroom door. His breath caught again when Seth stopped right in front of him. Curve, the subtle tang of sweat, and something that was pure Seth surrounded him. His eyes moved from the hollow at the base of Seth’s neck to his face.

“I…”

“Hm?” Incredible. He’d been reduced to sound effects by a peek at tan skin and those _eyes_. They where depthless. He’d never understood the meaning of _bedroom eyes_ until he’d met Seth.

Seth swallowed twice before answering, “Bathroom,” he said and flicked his chin towards Dean.

He glanced behind himself briefly before stepping just out of the way of the door. As Seth went to pass him their thighs touched and it was like a damn shattering inside him. Without any thought his hand flew out and caught Seth’s wrist in a death grip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He took a long slow breath and looked down at the large pale fingers wrapped tightly around his darker wrist. Yes, it was painful, but the feeling of possession did funny things to his stomach. He could hear Dean’s breathing pick up pace, and he was almost afraid to face him. He didn’t want to _fight_ anymore.

He looked over his shoulder, and Dean had that wild look in his eyes that he got in the ring during an intense match. He tried to read Dean’s face his eyes taking in every detail. There was time he would have immediately known what Dean was feeling, but those shutters were still locked tight. He looked down and watched Dean’s chest rise and fall rapidly behind the thin fabric of his gray tank.

He tried to read his face again, coming to rest on his indigo eyes. Dean had a way of _looking_ at you. It was like he was breaking you down into pieces. Like he was seeing into the core of you, and if you let those eyes touch the very essence of you, you were never the same. As they watched each other Seth noticed that his breathing had started to keep tempo with Dean’s.

 _This is crazy._ They couldn’t stand in his bathroom doorway all night. _Why did I let him in?_ He thought it, but he already knew why, and pretending he didn’t was absurd. He’d happily take Dean any way he could get him, including the brutal battles they’d had over the last several months. When it came to _this_ man, having all that intensity focused solely on you was like a drug, a high he had never known before, and he’d been an addict since the minute they met.

His tongue flicked out to moisten over-dry lips, and Dean’s eyes followed the movement. He had no warning when he was pulled forward and slammed into the wall next to the bathroom door, his wrist still in Dean’s grip locked above his head, his change of clothes laying forgotten on the bathroom tile. Their faces were inches apart, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, and Dean made a pained sound from the back of his throat.

He tilted his head slightly so that he was looking up at Dean, and he knew his eyes had fallen to half-mast. He couldn’t help it. Having Dean this close, his smell, the raw power in every muscle, the barely restrained predator just beneath the surface. Dean dropped his walls for the briefest moment, but he hadn’t missed it. No matter how long it had been, he could read those eyes like a book.

He took a chance. He adjusted his hips so that he was pressed perfectly against Dean. There would be no doubt about how he was feeling now.   With a barely there groan, Dean nestled into his neck inhaling his scent, and pressing him more firmly into the wall. He pressed back, using the wall and his core for balance he wrapped one leg around Dean’s hip. It was like he had torn the door off a cage.

The _wolf_ had been set free, and he _loved_ it.

Dean was devouring his mouth. A rough hand guided his other leg around Dean’s waist, and then both hands were pinned above his head as Dean used his body to restrain him. Jagged nails dug into his wrists, as Dean lined their erections up.

Had that breathy little sigh been him?

With a low groan Dean moved to his neck, one hand holding him up, the other trying to undo the last of his shirt buttons.   He ran his fingers gently through the wavy hair he loved so much, content to let Dean lead. He _wanted_ to be consumed by him. Rough nips rained down on his neck and with a frustrated growl Dean gave up on finesse and tore his shirt open instead.

He couldn’t stop the small chuckle that escaped his lips. Dean looked into his eyes, seeing into him in that way that only _he_ could. He locked his ankles around Dean’s lean hips pulling him even closer, and wrapped his arms around his neck, guiding their lips together again.

He’d desperately missed the taste of Dean on his tongue. The smell of Dean surrounding him. The feel of Dean’s skin under his fingers. How something you only had for a few hours could imprint itself on your very being, he didn’t know, but now that he had it again, he was determined to never let it go.

He was surprised when he felt Dean pull away, and lower him onto the bed. He was so lost in _Dean_ that he hadn’t noticed them moving across the room. He pushed the gray leather jacket off his shoulders, determined to reveal more skin. After one more kiss, Dean threw his hat across the room, and pulled his tank off.

They were only apart for a few seconds, but it left him feeling bereft. It was much too much like all the nights between the last time they’d been together and tonight. He dug his nails into Dean’s shoulders and pulled him back in for a short rough kiss that was more bite then kiss. The twinge of pain brought a smile to Dean’s face.

Dean’s hands and mouth were everywhere they could touch. This was the thing he had missed the most these last few months. Dean wanting _him_. Only him. In this moment… he was _all_ Dean could see.

Dean made quick work of his shirt, then started on his belt, and he shifted his hips to help as much as he could. Slacks and briefs gone, Dean stroked his cock, and he let out a low hiss, trying not to crawl up the mattress. It was a simple touch, but he was so hungry for _this_ man, that he was losing himself completely.

Dean caressed the head, sliding precum down the shaft to ease the way. He spread his legs wider letting Dean press even closer. He reached for the bedside table, but it was just out of reach. He struggled to reach and keep himself in the hands stroking him into oblivion.

He gave up and instead went to work on Dean’s belt. Dean’s mouth met his as he undid the button on his jeans, and pulled the zipper down. He palmed his perfect ass as he guided his pants down past his hips, relishing the feel of hands on his too needy cock.

Dean broke away to push his pants all the way off, and he took that time to crawl over to the bed side table. He flung the drawer open. He had supplies... sort of. What guy didn’t keep condoms around? But no lube. Just lotion. It was workable. A little rough, but he didn’t care at this point.

When he turned back, the way Dean was _staring_ at him almost made his skin melt off his bones. He felt _sexy_ in a way a man rarely had the opportunity. He felt edible, and he was ready to be devoured. Dean used his body to press him back into the mattress, crawling over him. He took the supplies out of his hands, and popped the cap on the lotion.

The lotion was cold as it made contact with his cock, but he didn’t care. Dean touching him with those aqua eyes watching his every move was hotter than anything he had ever known. He barely noticed the fingers circling his pucker. He was too intertwined with Dean now. Too lost _in_ him. He knew he was mewling, but he was beyond embarrassment.

When Dean’s palm settled on his lower stomach and pressed down he prepared himself for the initial thrust of fingers. He tried to slow his breathing, and pushed out to make it as easy for them both as possible. This wasn’t going to be slow and tender. It had been _too_ long. The tension strung _too_ tight for far _too_ long.

When the first finger slid in he almost flew off the mattress. It was too good, and nowhere near good enough. Unlike the first time, they were both cognizant tonight. _Aware_. There was no filter to dull the sensations coursing through his body. There was a current running under his skin.

He dug his nails into the back of Dean’s arms, and met each thrust of his fingers. The stretch was _so_ good. Azure eyes roamed his face then travelled down to watch him take three fingers. Dean’s breathing cranked up another notch. Every moan he made seemed to push Dean closer and closer to the precipice. There was _nothing_ hotter than someone who was turned on by turning you on.

He pushed the hair out of Dean’s eyes, so he could really _see_ him. This was what he had been waiting for. This moment. Eye to eye. A shudder wracked his entire frame and he whispered, “Now.”

He felt the head of Dean’s cock pressing at his entrance and he pushed out again. When he felt Dean bottom out he arched off the bed. Nothing could be better than this. So full. So _complete_. Dean was buried in his neck, breaths falling in rapid pants, his cock trapped between their bodies.

When Dean finally started to move, the pace was brutal, just like he knew it would be. He’d be feeling it tomorrow, but he didn’t care. He wanted to _feel_ Dean all day. Dean mouthed his neck as he slammed home over and over again. With his arms wrapped around Dean’s shoulders, all he could do was hold on, and use his heels to urge him on. More. Harder. Faster.

Skin to skin, slick with sweat, Dean’s hard stomach rubbing over his erection again and again. He was going to cum faster than he ever had before. He was overwhelmed by the sensation of Dean on him, around him, and in him.

When Dean hit his prostate he couldn’t help the scream that fell from his lips, his nails tearing into skin. He was so close now. Dean used a sharp tug on his hair to look him in the eye. He brought their mouths together in a crude kiss, then pressed their foreheads together, so all they could see was each other.

Russet to indigo. Body to body. Soul to soul. Dean slammed into him even harder, every other pump tapping his prostate. His motions beginning to lose their fluidity. He was close too. He drove even harder pushing them both higher. The muscles in his neck and arms straining with the pace.

He could feel the knot in his stomach curling tighter and tighter, and with one more brutal slam into his prostate he was lost. His cock erupting between them. Dean thrust a few more times and then fingers dug into his hips so hard he knew he’d have bruises.

Dean collapsed on top of him, and he ran his fingers through damp strands. As his breathing slowed Dean nuzzled further into his chest, and he wrapped a leg over his calf. Seth tried to get a peek at his face, but his eyes were already closed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty four hours ago if you’d told him he’d be standing on Seth’s balcony, smoking a cigarette, and watching the sunrise he would have called you crazy. Sometimes the wind had a way of blowing you in directions you’d never expect. This time he’d gotten caught in a hurricane and turned inside out. Now that he had come out the other side, he was caught in a tree like _none_ he’d ever known.

He’d considered leaving and flying back to Vegas, but that wasn’t an option. Not now. Not after last night. He’d never feared a single damn thing in his life. Life had taught him nothing was fair, hit twice as hard as everybody else, and never trust anyone. Then came Seth, and these _feelings_ , and for the first time in his 29 years… he was scared shitless.

He should go back inside. He didn’t want Seth waking up to an empty bed, and thinking he’d left. He made his way back inside, checked the room service menu, and quietly placed an order. Seth was a foodie, so he went a little overboard.

He let himself watch Seth sleeping for a few minutes, his chest rising and falling slowly, totally at peace. He was stunning like this. Unguarded. This was the Seth that had crawled under his skin so deep he’d never be able to carve him out. The _real_ Seth.  

He went back out onto the balcony and lit another cigarette before he let the ball in his stomach get any bigger. It was _too_ easy to see himself waking up just like this every day for the rest of his life. He left the sliding door open so he would hear room service when it came.

When the food came he gave the bellboy a nice tip for lugging up so much food. He brought the cart inside, and set the table as quietly as he could. When he was finished he watched Seth sleeping again. He wasn’t a creeper. He _wasn’t_. He just looked so… beautiful that he wanted to preserve the memory. _Just in case_ , a little voice inside himself said.

He woke him with a brush of fingers on his cheek. When those eyes half opened and landed on him, he was punched straight in the gut. “Morning,” Seth mumbled, his throat still thick with sleep. He stretched, and when his eyes opened more fully, the smile Seth gave him took his breath away.

“Uh… I ordered breakfast.” He pointed to the table and then took a seat. He looked liked a deer caught in the headlights. He _knew_ he did, and he _felt_ like one. Seth didn’t have any of the same reservations it seemed because he got out of bed naked, and wandered around until he found a pair of clean boxer briefs to put on.

He couldn’t help his eyes following every moment. The pull and stretch of muscles so graceful. When Seth sat down across from him, and finally looked down, he smiled again. “You ordered almost everything on the menu, didn’t you?”

“Well I know your fat ass likes to eat,” he joked, trying to fall back into the familiar friendly banter that had come so easily before.

“Oh really?  So all you're interested in is my ass?” Seth replied cheekily, and took a piece of cinnamon swirl french toast off the plate in the center of the table.  Seth looked at him expectantly, and he didn’t know how to respond.  This was foreign territory.  Hostile foreign territory, and it was turning into a fucking mine field.

His only real relationship before meeting Seth had been a _train wreck_ , and had pushed his walls up even further.  After coming to the WWE the thing with Renee had just left him confused.  He was the kind of guy who needed to understand what made people tick.  Himself included.  Shouldn’t he have been in love?  After two years?  Wasn’t that how it worked?

Then one night there were too many shots, and in the aftermath, he’d woken up alone.  The epiphany struck him like a bolt of lightning.  He finally understood.  He _couldn’t_ love her. Would _never_ lover her. Not because she wasn’t worthy, or because he was incapable of love, but because he already _belonged_ to someone else.

Seth’s eyes shifted, his smile fading away. The look in those depthless eyes was killing him. It was like someone had just snuffed out a candle. Seth very carefully added food to his plate without making eye contact with him again. Something in the air had changed again. Things between him and Seth kept shifting, and quite frankly, he was having trouble keeping up.

_Do or die, right?_

“Look, I don’t know about all the other shit. Okay? It’s a fucked up mess. I’m a fucked up mess. All I know is that from the minute we met, every part of me has been screaming that you _are_ mine. That you were the thing every fucked up moment of my life before that was leading me to. I _belong_ to you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He stood behind the curtain. Things were about to change in a monumental way. He could feel it in the air. The crowd was electric. As usual when his music hit, the crowd started to boo. He was ready to face them. This time… He was going to do things right.

The stunned silence when Dean walked out behind him was a sign of things to come. This was a night of… _revelations_. Come what may, they were a united force. Them, their love, from now on, that would always come _first_. The WWE would _always_ be second. It was their passion, it was what brought them together, and the thing they both loved most, besides each other.

When they reached the ring Dean called for a mic, and handed it to him. The audience was starting to boo Dean, guilt by association, and he just couldn’t have that. “We all know that you don’t really want to boo Dean. I know that you love him, but we’ll get to that later. Right now, I want to ask Triple H and Stephanie McMahon to come out here.”

When their music started he felt like a weight was lifting off his shoulders. Dean was pacing around behind him and the crowd got even angrier. Their confusion at seeing him and Dean together with the addition of The _Authority_ was a powder keg. Triple H raised a mic to his lips, but he cut him off.

“Tonight I wanted to take some time to let you know that things are about to change in the WWE. The _Authority_ , and more specifically, Stephanie McMahon, struck my weakest point. She used that weakness to convince me to _betray_ my brother Roman Reigns. She used it to manipulate me into trying to _destroy_ the thing I love most, but… that weakness is now my biggest strength.”

The near silence in the arena was eerie. “Tonight I’m going to relinquish the WWE championship,” he said and the arena blew up. He waited for them to die down before continuing, “But you can bet your ass that I will be coming for it, and this time… I’m going to earn it. Blood. Sweat. Tears.”

“What is this, Seth? You…”

“Shut your mouth,” Dean said into a mic from behind him, and he turned in surprise.

They exchanged a smile before he continued, “Thank you, Dean. The _Shield_ is back and stronger than ever.” The crowd was on its feet now, the cheers deafening, as they realized they were witnessing a moment in history. The recreation of the most powerful faction in WWE history. “ _Shield_ is coming for The Authority and we won’t stop until we annihilate _each_ and _every_ one of you.”

“Seth, Seth, Seth… I thought you understood,” Triple H replied as they began to make their way to the ring, “I never lose.”

“And I thought you understood, Hunter, The Lunatic Fringe, Dean Ambrose, The Juggernaut, Roman Reigns, and The Architect, Seth Rollins, as individuals are _already_ a force to be reckoned with. As a team… Well… The _Authority_ doesn’t have a chance in hell.”

“You will not stand out here and dictate to me. I…” Roman’s music began, and he took position on the ramp behind them. Seth felt calm as he watched the color leech from Triple H’s face as he realized they were trapped. Three on one weren’t good odds, even for _The Game_. Everything was going _exactly_ as he had planned.

“You can’t destroy The Authority,” Triple H said, as he glanced back at Roman. “The Authority is indestructible. The _Authority_ is infinite. The Authority _is_ the WWE. The…”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean growled. “This is _SHIELD_ time. You _WILL_ respect that.”

“You weren’t invited out here to talk,” Seth stated calmly. “I’m putting you on notice. The Shield won’t rest until The _Authority_ is nothing but a bad memory.” The arena went ballistic, and he smiled as he took it all in.

“How dare you threaten me. I am the principal owner of the WWE,” Stephanie shrieked.

“The _Shield_ doesn’t make _threats_ Stephanie,” Seth replied. “We make _guarantees_.”

“We’ll see about that,” Stephanie screamed. “Tonight The Shield will face Randy Orton, Kane, The Big Show, Mark Henry, and… and… _Ryback_ in a no disqualification elimination handicap match.”

“Is that the best you got?” Dean asked with a wink, and Seth smiled at him. There was a whole host of memories to that phrase, though over the last six days they’d become _much_ more pleasurable.

“We’ll be there, Stephanie, but you better have more than that to bring to the table if you expect to stop us,” Seth replied. Roman began making his way to the ring, shoulder checking Triple H along the way. The fury on Stephanie’s face at having been so summarily dismissed was not to be forgotten.

“Now… Moving on to more _interesting_ announcements,” Seth began as Roman climbed into the ring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Seth,” Dean interrupted, “I think I’m going to take over from here. Tonight…” He looked down and realized Stephanie and Hunter were still there.

“You’re still here? I thought we made it clear. We're done with you. You can go.” He flicked his wrist in dismissal. Seth and Roman laughed as they finally returned to the back. Dean watched them until they disappeared behind the curtain.

“A-n-y-way… Tonight I’m gonna explain what _this_ ,” he gestured to the three of them in the ring, “is all about. And I want you to pay real close attention, because I don’t plan to repeat myself.” The crowd fell virtually silent one more time.

“On June 2nd, 2014, The _Shield_ was destroyed. We had a cancer, but that cancer _wasn’t_ named Seth Rollins,” he began, and Roman nodded in agreement. “Our disease was fear. Fear of ourselves. Fear of the unknown. Of things we couldn’t have begun to understand until last Monday. But… that time is _over_. The Shield IS back, and we _are_ stronger and more united in our cause than ever.”

He reached out his hand, and beckoned Seth closer. When Seth was within arm’s reach, he wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him close before continuing, “Seth Rollins is _with_ me. I am _with_ Seth Rollins. We are _together_. We are _in_ love. If anybody has a problem with that, well… It’s just that. _Your_ problem.”

That night, The Shield went on to _decimate_ Team Authority, without suffering a single casualty. The Shield was more _dominant_ than ever. This was a _war_. A war The Architect _would_ win. The _Authority_ had nearly cost them _everything_. This was _beyond_ personal and their brother in arms, Roman, was with them all the way. To hell and back, and everywhere in between. They were one.

Dean had _finally_ found his way home. They _both_ had.

Another match.

Another glance.

Another smile.

Another laugh.

Another touch, kiss, taste.

Another day.

Another city.

Another perfect moment.

Wash.

Rinse.

Repeat.


End file.
